


"demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while"

by the_nerd_youre_looking_for



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Sweeney Todd - Sondheim/Wheeler
Genre: Cannibalism, Death, Extreme Crime, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lots of Angst, Murder, Nonconsensual Cannibalism, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Sweeney Todd AU, anyway i love sweeney todd and i love good omen, aziraphale's name in this is erza, bare with me, but funny stuff, i've seen it used before and i like it, if u know sweeney todd then u know whats up, listen i know crowley is with beelzebub here its just so the plot can work ok, lots of death, purely self indulgent, this might be crack taken seriously or it might be great, who knows anymore, zira and crowley r still buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-02 09:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_youre_looking_for/pseuds/the_nerd_youre_looking_for
Summary: "You've been told never to enter the old abandoned bakery. For one, the floorboards are rotting. For another, it was the site of one of the most horrendous acts ever seen in London. But here you are, despite the warnings. Longing for adventure, for answers.""The ghosts of a time long past invite you to sit down on a moth-eaten cushion and begin to tell you a tale. The tale of one Mr. Crowley and his accomplice, Erza Fell."Basically a Sweeney Todd au. Title is from "Not While I'm Around" from Sweeney Todd





	1. attend the tale

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is going to be horribly out of character, but you know what, this is for fun

In a certain street corner in London sits an abandoned building. It's very old and nearly collapsed in on itself, must be from around the 19th century. People always talk about what an eyesore it is, and tourists always find the odd historic building very charming and quaint and all those synonyms. It's a two story building, and both stories were a business establishment and living quarters in one. For those who didn't know the history behind it, the two businesses weren't so much at odds with each other as they were simply...jarring to put in such close quarters. Fell's Pie Shop on the ground floor and Mr. Crowley's Barber Shop up top. Very weird.

People who do know the history know the reasons. People who know the history have warned you to not enter either of those establishments. One very practical reason is the condition of the building. It was built nearly two hundred years ago and the floorboards were rotted through. The second, more superstitious reason, is indeed the history. There are whispers of apparitions, spirits that were tied to this place and couldn't move on. Souls who were separated from the threads of time before it was right, demons who pace the floors at night and aren't kindly to intruders. Ghosts who can't move on. Now you stay away from that building, child, do you hear me? was a phrase your parents would harshly whisper at you every time you needed to pass it to get to the grocery store or visit a friend or the like. Some say the spirits are what keep the city from tearing down the old thing and putting up something more modern. In reality, it was deemed a historic site and is protected by the government. 

Tonight, you are ignoring the warning. Rotten floorboards and demons aside, you take your first step into the building and you feel a chill run down your spine. There are spirits here, you can feel it. There is a certain angry, grief-stricken emotion about just the threshold to Fell's bakery, so much of it. You forget to breath for nearly ten seconds before moving forward, carefully, carefully. 

Government protections don't mean much to rebellious teenagers, who have vandalized the place thoroughly. You sweep your flashlight around, fully taking in the cobwebs and dust motes floating around the room. There's a counter with an old cash registrar placed on it, along with an obscene amount of graffiti and a layer of dust. You run your hand across it, and the emotions do not lessen. 

The floor creaks as you walk into the living quarters. Once upon a time, it would have been cozy and cute. Now, moths and rats have chewed their way through most of the plush furniture and the antique photographs were well faded. There's one on the mantle that withheld the test of time better than the others. Only half of the original was in the frame, as a rather large bit had been torn out. It showed two men, both smiling. The taller man was gazing adoringly at someone in the missing portion and held a baby. The shorter man was smiling brightly at the camera and seemed to have been playing with the baby. Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell, most likely. But who was the child, and who was missing? 

_This, we can tell you. Do you wish to know? _

You turn around quickly, waving your flashlight around frantically. You catch a glimpse of a translucent, bearded man in the doorway. Another man, rail-thin and wearing a fancy vest appears on the sofa. A woman smoking a pipe leans against the wall next to the mantle. 

"Who are you? What do you want?"

_What you know isn't the full story, young one. _

"I know well enough what happened here."

_Every man thinks of himself as the hero. The same for these two. Would you like to know?_

"What are we missing?"

_All the good parts, of course! The motivations. Everyone is driven by something more than a simple bloodlust._

The spirit on the sofa invites you to sit. You accept, and slowly, surely, more lost souls fill the room. They have not had a guest in years, and they are restless. None among them wish any harm, only to tell you a story. A gruesome, tragic tale, with few heroes and only a glimpse at a happy end. But every story yearns to be told, and the storyteller years with it.

So, tonight is your night among souls of the past, weaving a yarn they know all too well. Miraculously, the rotten floorboards don't break and send you crashing to your doom and the building holds off its inevitable collapse for a little longer. And, if at some point in the night, a certain two gentlemen stop to listen in to their story, no one objects to their presence, and they do not wish to harm you either. You are safe tonight. 


	2. london, 1846

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we meet the infamous Anthony Crowley, and the not-famous-at-all, Newton Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some last names are changed for character convenience. Crowley is Sweeney, Newt is Anthony, and Beelzebub is the beggar woman
> 
> This should take us from No Place Like London to the ending of A Barber and His Wife!

It wasn't dark, stormy, or even nighttime when the story began. Rather, it was a foggy and cold morning when the ship _Bountiful _docked at London harbor. The crew went about their duties on board, while two men took the dinghy to shore. _Bountiful _needed to be kept farther out or the shallow waters would damage the bottom of it.

The younger of the two, a man of about twenty, gazed lovingly at the city emerging through the mist. He had dark hair just on the verge of needing it cut, a bit of stubble, and a pair of glasses. He wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck as he smiled brightly.

"I've sailed all over the world, seen every wonder." He said, almost in awe, wiping condensation off his glasses. "But there just isn't anywhere like London."

"Yeah, no place like bloody London." muttered the other man. This man, about forty or fifty, was scowling into the dark water. His red hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and his eyes were hidden by the tinted lenses of his glasses.

Newton looked behind to him. "Mr. Crowley?" he asked, surprised by the bitterness in the other man's voice.

"You're young. Life has been kind to you." Crowley's voice was sad, almost mournful now. He glanced up at Newt and shook his head. "You'll learn."

It was a very odd statement, but Mr. Anthony Crowley was nothing if not odd. The whole voyage, he'd spent locked in his small cabin, refusing to speak with anyone besides Newton himself, the captain of the ship. All he wanted to know was how long until London. And now that he's here, it seems to be the place he dislikes the most. A very odd man, Newt thought to himself. 

The men stepped out of the boat and onto the docks. Newt took the length of rope and began to secure the dinghy to a wooden pole. He noticed Mr. Crowley shivering in the cold, and no wonder, as he was so ill-dressed for the cold. All he had was a large pair of work pants held up by suspenders over a thin white shirt. Newt knew better than to offer his coat, as every time someone would try to do something kind to him, he would snap at them and retreat back to his solitude. 

Anthony himself was too busy in his memories to be bothered by the chill. He remembered coming down to the docks on a warmer, summer day, for no other reason than it was a nice day and he wanted to take a walk. A glance down a particular street send him tumbling into a winter afternoon, popping into a shop to get something that caught his eye as a Christmas present. He had always told himself to be grateful for those happy days, but he didn't appreciate them nearly enough. Now, all he could hope to do was get even a shadow of them back.

"Well then, Newton." He said, shaking himself out of his head. "It is here we go our separate ways." He offered the young man a rare smile. "I shall not soon forget the good ship _Bountiful_, nor the young man who saved my life."

Newt only shrugged and finished tying the knot. "No need to thank me for that, sir. Would've made me a very poor Christian to see you pitching about on that tiny raft and not have sounded the alarm."

"There's plenty of Christians who'd have done just that and not lost a second's sleep over it." Crowley replied, almost a hiss. 

Newton opened his mouth to ask what on earth he meant by that, when they were very suddenly interrupted by a haggard looking beggar. Their dark hair was matted to their head, and they wore what looked to be an army uniform, only two sizes too big. The sack they carried seemed to be almost their height.

"Alms, for a miserable old hag on such a miserable morning?" They asked in a hoarse voice and held out their palms.

Newt fished around in his pockets before producing a bit of loose change, which was accepted gratefully.

"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you." A devilish look spread across their face and they hopped closer. "Sailor boy, you wanna go for a ride?" They cackled, letting their pants fall down partway.

Newt shook his head and backed away. There were always the odd ones, the poor beggars who were on all types of substances. He'd encountered worse than this.

Seeing that this wasn't going to go far, the beggar pulled their pants back up and turned to Crowley.

"Alms, sir, for a desparate....hey!" They shouted, circling around him, ignoring the way he tensed up at the closeness of it. "Don't I know you, mister?" Something lit up in their eyes, if only for a second.

"Off with you, get away!" Crowley shouted, suddenly lunging forward as if to chase them away himself.

"Well then, hows about a little dance, sir, we can do it till the sun's up!"

"I said leave! To the devil with you!" 

The beggar let out an unholy shriek, before walking away down the street, flagging down any passerby to ask for what they could afford to part with.

Crowley watched them go, a wild fire in his eyes. He jumped at a hand suddenly on his shoulder, but a quick glance over told him it was only Newton.

"Pardon me, sir." He started, an amused smile lighting up his whole face. "But there's no need to fear someone like them, just a crazy old beggar. London's full of 'em." He chuckled and bent to pick up his bags. 

"I beg your indulgence, boy." Crowley said, halfway into his own world again. "But my mind is far from easy. For in these once familiar streets...I feel the chill of ghostly shadows....all around."

Newt's eyes widened, and he glanced about as if trying to catch a glimpse of said ghosts. Crowley hefted a sigh, and put on a smile for the young man.

"Forgive me"

The sailor's usual sun-warm smile was back again, and he shouldered his bags with ease. "Nothing to forgive, sir."

"Farewell then, Newton."

Crowley turned on his heel, and started down a path he'd worn deep into the corners of his mind. The path home, or to the place that was home, at least. But before he could get anywhere, the boy had followed him.

"One moment, Mr. Crowley." He said, and Crowley let out a growl before turning to face him once again.

"What is it?"

"I've never questioned you, like I promised." He started, even as questions were forming clearly in his eyes. "Whatever got you on that wreck of a boat is your own affairs, and yet-" He stopped to hurry after Crowley, who had turned again and began walking down the street again. "And yet, during the weeks of our voyage, I've come to think of you as a friend."

This stopped Crowley, but he did not turn back. The feelings were not mutual. Newt was a happy-go-lucky young man, with no mind for troubles, consequences, or anything that could go wrong. He loved his boat and adventure, and his head was always up in the cloud. For the many weeks of the voyage, he'd done little else but bother Crowley in some way or another, and still he felt it strange to part from the boy. Possibly just the time in close proximity. 

Newt wrung his hands and tried again. "Well, if trouble lies for you here....if you need help, or money-"

"No!" Crowley exclaimed, whipping around once more. The fire was back in his eyes, and he seemed to stare right through Newton.

"There's a hole in the world like a great, black _pit, _and the vermin of the world inhabit _it_, and its morals aren't worth what a pig could_ spit, _and it goes by the name of _London_." He recited, almost sang. A cynical and angry rhyme he thought up, to entertain himself somewhat during his long years of labor. It didn't help but to embitter him farther, but bitterness comes of survival. And he needed only to survive.

"You listen, sailor boy, I've also gone around the world, I've seen its wonders!" He hissed, stalking back towards Newton, who was currently wondering what he said to rile his friend up so much. "The cruelty of man is just as wondrous as your Peru! But there's no place like London." The cold edge was back to his voice, the edge that cropped up whenever he hinted at a life before Newt had known him. 

He took a real look at Newt, and saw concern painted over his face. That was the trouble with him, he couldn't hide a thought if he tried. Crowley had to feel _bad _about his words now, and that was just a trouble for everybody involved. Rather than apologize, he decided he would explain. Just a little bit. No need for details or personal connection to his past. Give the boy just enough to satisfy him and be on his way.

"There was...a barber. And his spouse." He started off with. "And, his spouse, they were...they were beautiful. And virtuous." Simple words for such a complex being, but his Bea was beautiful in every possible meaning of the word. "And the barber, he was...naive."

He saw he had Newton's attention, at least for the time being. He needed to hurry this along or else he'd never get where he needed to go.

"There was another man who saw their beauty, a judge. Quite a corrupt judge. He arrested the barber, sent him off somewhere far away, and then that was all. He just had to wait for his spouse to fall for him, and he could have what he wanted at last." 

Crowley realized his mistake once he saw Newt was _interested _in the story. If the boy wanted to ask any questions, he could go find the bloody judge for all he cared.

"And...did they succumb?" Newt was twisting his scarf around his hands, eyes wide.

"Oh, that was quite some time ago. I doubt anyone knows now." There was someone who would know, and he needed to go find him _now_. Shake the boy, and go. 

"Now, Newton, leave me. There's something I must do, something to find out. Alone."

"But surely we will meet again before I leave for Plymouth?"

Crowley shrugged, giving one last glance over his shoulder. "You'll find me 'round Fleet Street, most likely."

Newton nodded and adopted his smile once more. "Until then, Mr. Crowley." And with that, he hastened in the opposite direction, almost running. 

Crowley shook his head and wrapped his arms around his body, to try to preserve some warmth. London was a den of bastards, that much was true. If he never ran into that sailor boy again, it'd be too soon. Finally, finally, he began his trek towards Fleet Street, towards answers. He needed his old friend, Erza Fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is straight from the play. A lot is just adapted. This is in no way plagiarism because I am crediting the source and the source is Stephan Sondheim


	3. mr fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the notorious Mr. Fell, and learn more about Crowley's past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamma mia here we go again  
Gabriel is Judge Turpin, Sandalphon is Beadle Bamford, and Anathema is Johanna
> 
> This is from Worst Pies In London to the end of My Friends

The sun was shining down by the time Anthony made it to the corner of Fleet Street. He had a dim thought that perhaps the warmth of the day might improve his mood a bit, he always did feel better on sunny days. But, no such luck. There was still that chunk of ice that sat in the pit of his belly, day in and day out. And looking at his old home did nothing to improve his mood. He thought it might. No such luck. 

He crossed the street and just stood in front of the building for a moment, taking it all in. His old place up on the second floor, both his apartment and barber shop, looked empty. He wondered if Bea had moved into a different building during his absence, or if they were just out on a walk with their daughter. She should be just about sixteen by now. He felt an ache in his heart, at having missed so much of his darling girl's life. But that didn't matter, because he was here now. He was here now, and he could finally, really meet his daughter, his Anathema. Surely Bea would have told her about him, surely they didn't leave her thinking she had no father. 

Erza was still occupying the first floor, clearly. Anthony could see him preparing a crust for one of his pies through the window. He had his favorite apron on, the one with a little lace on the pocket, and an old worn-out jumper. He smiled at the sight, knowing his good friend was right where he left him. He put his hand on the door, preparing to push it open, when something stopped him. A knot in his stomach, perhaps, or a shiver of apprehension. Fifteen years is a long time to be away from one's family. Did he truly want to know what had become of them? Anthony decided for himself that the answer was a hearty yes, and pushed the door open with more confidence than he could ever feel. 

At the tinkling of the bells above the door, Erza jolted his head up, almost frightened. Anthony wondered if he was simply surprised to see him again, when Erza's face broke out into a bright smile.

"A customer!" He exclaimed, which confused Anthony to no end. Was he really so unrecognizable after all those years? He didn't believe he'd changed much. He would've contemplated more when his friend rushed over to crowd him into a seat.

"Come now, we've got all day, dear. No rush, no rush." Erza chuckled. "You scared me, you did! Quite thought I was seeing things, haven't had a customer in a while!"

"Last time I was here, the place was-" Anthony began, starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by all of this conversation happening.

"Here, sit down." Erza continued, as if he hadn't heard the other man speak at all. He paused to let Anthony sit down, and then went back to his counter. "Did you come here for a pie, sir?" 

"Actually, it's-"

"Of course you did, it's a pie shop! Forgive me, I'm a bit silly in the head these days, it seems!" Erza reached into the display case to pull out one of his meat pies and put it on a plate. Anthony could've smiled at the way Erza still put so much care into his pies if he wasn't trying to figure just _how _his oldest friend didn't know how he was. 

Anthony jumped at a sudden, loud smack, and looked up to see Erza wiping something on his already quite dirty apron. "Must've thought we had the plague here, hm? What with everyone keeping away, not even popping their heads in to see what's fresh. It's a bit of a troubling time for this business, but I'm very glad you're here, I'm sure." With that, he placed the plate on Anthony's table and busied back to his counter.

Anthony gave a weak "thank you" before paying any attention to the pie in front of him. It looked...very unappetizing, to be polite. To be impolite, it looked like it had been decomposing for a month. Smelled that way too. Before he'd left, the pie shop had been doing alright, which was what confused him. It wasn't the busiest or most successful pie shop around, but it wasn't like _this_. The pies at least looked like they were fresh. He poked at it with his fork, pretending to be cutting it open. 

"Would you like a cup of ale, sir?" Erza called. At Anthony's nod, he went to fetch a cup. The way he had to blow dust off of it didn't go unnoticed.

"Erza, listen-" He tried again.

"Well, anyway, I don't blame anyone for never stopping by." Erza said with a chuckle. "I'd wager these are the worst pies in London." He set the glass of ale down on Anthony's table and sat across from him a moment. "I know just why no one buys these, and I should since I make each one by hand. Clearly I don't make them well enough."

"I'm sure they're-"

"Just take a bite of it if you doubt me, go on, dear." Erza gestured at the pie, still untouched. He sounded far too cheerful for him to be discussing how horrible his handmade pies were.

Anthony gave it a wary look before just picking it up and taking a small bit out of it. He almost wished he'd just taken Erza's word about them being the worst pies, because he felt like he might vomit. Sometimes, looks are deceiving. In this case, they were not. The crust was hard, and the meat filling was dry and tasted sour. There was far too much butter being used, and he thought he spotted a patch of mold on the underside. But to be polite, he put the pie down and tried for a smile.

"See?" Erza laughed. "Disgusting. Drink up, you'll need it to wash it all down." He nudged the glass and stood up to get back to work. 

"No, it's-"

"It's really not my fault, it's just the price on half decent meat nowadays, well, I'd have to sell the place to afford half a pack of it, I tell you. I can barely buy the giblets from a diseased chicken!" Erza took up a rolling pin and started whacking the dough with it. "Absolutely ridiculous, I say, this economy is."

Anthony forced himself to swallow and then to take another bite. If he had to pay for this shit, he was going to sock Erza in the face, friendship be damned. 

"Listen, I really-"

"Nowadays, you find people out in the roads picking up poor animals that've died and all, isn't that just a sorry thought?" Erza continued, now properly rolling out the dough. "You know Mrs. Mooney, just down the road? Lovely woman, she runs another pie shop. Now, that's all fine, she does her business, but you know what I've noticed lately?" He leaned forward on the counter, pointing his utensil at Anthony. "Some of her neighbors have pet cats, and I've noticed that lately, a number of them have gone missing!"

Anthony found it harder to quietly chew on his next bite of pie with that news. Erza just laughed, and then suddenly a look of great concern swept over his face.

"Oh, not here, I'd never! Makes my stomach churn just to think of stuffing a pie with some poor cat! I assure you, I'd never."

Anthony swore he could've heard Erza mutter something about those dratted cats being too fast to catch anyhow, but it wasn't like he wanted to ask. He already was suspicious about what he was eating. 

"But I don't blame the poor old dear, it's hard times nowadays. Price of edible meat just keeps going up, ridiculous. And, well, it's just me here and I'm not exactly a spring chicken, and, well..." Erza gestured almost sadly at the pie in Anthony's hand, of which he was picking off the moldy patch. "Times are hard for us, dear. We make do." 

He fell quiet after that and continued to roll out the dough. Anthony was reaching for his glass so he could have something to wash the pie down with when Erza spoke up yet again. 

"Oh, just spit it out. Worse things than that down there, I'll tell you."

After a moment's hesitation, he followed that advice, and took another gulp of the ale to get the sour taste of it out. The two of them fell into a relative silence, and Anthony was yet again reminded of his life before. He'd sit down in the shop when he wasn't busy and bug Erza while he was at work. More than once he bought a few pies and made ridiculous demands and complaints, to which he received only a mildly amused look and the reassurance that he was, as usual, the worst customer Erza had ever had. There were the nights, after both shops had closed, where all three of them would meet up in Erza's living space and talk or drink or play some game, or sometimes all three. There were nights when it was just the two of them. 

"Isn't that a room up there, over the shop?" Anthony asked, forcing himself to sound casual. "If times are so hard, couldn't you rent it out? That should make you something." He was surprised at the reaction that got out of his friend. At best, he expected him to say "oh no, couldn't do that, there's people already living there and it's your spouse and daughter". In any other scenario, he expected it to be some other reason, like the windows are busted or the doors don't lock or something. He wasn't expecting Erza to shake his head violently, as if terrified of the very notion.

"Up there?" He jabbed a finger at the ceiling, voice incredulous. "Oh no, I don't even go near it!" He finished with his crust and covered it with a checkered cloth, then came to sit across from Anthony. He clasped his hands together and darted his eyes around the shop, as if someone might be spying on them. 

"People say it's haunted." Erza leaned forward and lowered his voice. His expression was dead serious. "You see, something happened up there. Something...not very nice."

Anthony's stomach churned, and he suspected it wasn't entirely because of the mystery meat he had just consumed. "What happened?" He breathed, half wanting to bolt for the door and to leave London altogether.

"Well, there was a family up there, good friends of mine." Erza started. A certain wistfulness misted over his eyes, and Anthony could already tell he was going to get into one of his moods. "A barber and his spouse, and he was simply...beautiful." Wistfulness was replaced by panic, and Erza stumbled over his words, checking the windows and door, again worrying about someone overhearing. 

"I mean, well, he was certainly attractive, I can see that in a man, certainly I can appreciate when a man is attractive, in a general sense, it's not as if-"

"No, no, it's fine. Just carry on with the story." Anthony waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. He was quite aware of Erza's _infatuation _with him, and he didn't mind it in the slightest. It got a bit awkward occasionally, but Erza was a good friend. He wasn't going to give a person like that up because of something silly like that.

"Oh, oh really?" Erza sagged back down in his seat, a smile creeping its way onto his face. "Oh, that's a relief, my word. Well, anyway, this barber. He was a very good barber, an artist with his razors, really. One day, he was transported for life, off to prison."

Erza was silent for just a moment. "Barker, was his name. Raphael Barker."

"Transported, you said?" Anthony asked, sitting on his hands to hide their shaking. "What was his crime?"

Erza stared at a spot on the table and sighed, looking just as old as he was all of a sudden. "Foolishness." Was his simple answer.

"You see, he had his spouse, pretty little thing. Why, a man would bring them the moon if they just asked him and batted their eyelashes all pretty like. Poor thing."

That sent Anthony's heart racing. What on earth could he mean by "poor thing"? What happened? He felt sick at the notion that he was about to find out. 

"There were these two men, and, well, they were mad over them, wanted them like anything. A judge and his beadle, they were. Every day, they'd bother them and get them little flowers and such pretty things, but they stayed faithful to their husband. So, what do they do, they ship the poor bloke down south, Australia or wherever. They're left with nothing but their grief and a daughter, just a year old. Doesn't use their head, not once. Silly thing. Oh, and it gets worse." Erza shook his head and tapped out a rhythm on the table. "Anathema. That was the baby's name. Sweet little Anathema. Odd name, but wasn't she just the cutest little-"

"Go on!" Anthony almost yelled it. He was hanging onto Erza's every word, desperate for this knowledge and repulsed by it at the same time. "It gets worse", the fucker knew how to hook an audience, that was for sure. 

"Well, aren't you eager for a good story?" Erza chuckled, eyes twinkling like the story wasn't a part of his past. Anthony wondered just how he could be so casual while telling this. He was shaking all over now, and didn't care enough to try and stop.

"Well, one night, the beadle comes up to them, all polite. He tells them the judge feels awful, blames himself for the rut they're stuck in, tells them that the judge wants to apologize. Beadle invites them over to the judge's place, and the poor thing, they accept. And, just their luck, wouldn't you know, the judge is having some sort of masquerade or what not, everyone's wearing masks. Poor dear can't find anyone they know. So, they wander around and drink, bad idea. They go around, asking everyone where Judge Gabriel is, it is his party. Oh, and he was there alright, but not feeling all sorry for the poor dear!"

Anthony took his cup of ale and started drinking it again. He had a sinking suspicion that he should be at least slightly drunk if he was going to hear this story to the end. 

"Well, drunk as they were, they weren't no match for this sort of scenario. They definitely weren't delicate, no sir, but this was a bad situation. Drunk, caught unaware, and...well, everyone thought they mustn't have been right in the head, thought it was funny, so they all just stood around while the judge, well...forced himsel-"

"No!" Anthony stood suddenly, slamming his hands on the table, clutching it for support. He felt a sort of inferno rising up in his rib cage, incinerating everything there. He felt like he might collapse. "Would no one have mercy on them?!" 

Erza looked far too pleased with himself, a smug smile resting on his lips. Anthony wanted to rip it off. 

"I just knew it was you, Raphael Barker!" 

"Not Barker! No!" Anthony kicked a table leg and clawed at the surface of it. "Crowley now, Anthony Crowley! Where are they?"

Erza ignored him and stood up to circle around him. He plucked off his glasses and smiled up at him. "Why, I hardly recognized you, you look so different! What in heaven's name did they do to you down in wherever they sent you?"

"Shut up!" Anthony snarled. "Where's Bea? Where is my spouse?"

That got Erza to stop smiling his stupid little smirk. "They poisoned themself. Arsenic. I tried to stop them, but you know how they are, stubborn as a mule, they didn't listen."

Anthony felt numb all over. He sank down into his seat and felt the ice in his stomach grow ever colder. "And my daughter?" he asked weakly.

Erza came behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "_He's _got her."

"He? Judge Gabriel?!"

Erza nodded solemnly. "I suppose even he had a heart, somewhere down there. Adopted her like she was his own!" Erza put on a cheerful tone, clearly doing his best to put a positive spin on any of this. "You could say it was good luck for the girl, you know I'm not the wealthiest, and-"

He stopped short when he heard Anthony sob into his hands. "Oh, poor dear. Here, cheer up now, I'm still here. I can go make you a nice cup of tea if you'd like, or maybe something stronger and heavily alcoholic."

"Fifteen years." Anthony rasped. He lifted his face out of his hands. "Fifteen years, sweating in a living hell on a false charge. Fifteen years of dreaming that I might one day come home to a _loving spouse and child!_" He sprang out of his seat and threw the chair to the floor with a loud bang. Anthony snatched his glasses back from Erza and put them on.

"Well, let them quake in their boots, Judge Gabriel and his beadle!" Anthony shouted, maybe to Erza, maybe to God, maybe to himself. "For their hour has come."

"What, you're gonna get 'em?" Erza asked, crossing his arms and not looking as impressed (or afraid) as Anthony would have liked him to. "What, you're a nobody of a runaway prisoner. You'll never get to them, don't make me laugh." Then, his eyes lit up as if somebody had pulled a lightbulb cord right behind them. "Say, you got any money?" When he got no response, he softly hit Anthony in the arm. "Listen to me! Have you got any money?"

"No money." Anthony spat, clearly still thinking of how it would feel when he was covered in the judge's blood. Morbid fantasies, but a man needs to have something.

Erza sighed and slumped against the table. "Well, how are you even going to live?"

"I'll live." Anthony growled. "Whether it's in the sewers or in the plague hospitals, I'll live, and I'll have them!" He punctuated his sentence with a stab to the air.

"Oh, you poor thing." Erza chuckled. He pushed himself off the table and walked to his living area. "Wait here! I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Anthony stood alone for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to Erza bustle about. He had been robbed. He had been robbed of his life, his love, his child...he had nothing left, aside from his friend, of course. He knew well enough that killing Judge Gabriel and the beadle wouldn't bring anything back. In fact, he'd be more of a convict than he already was. But that didn't matter to him. He couldn't keep this white-hot inferno inside of him forever, or it just might kill him from the inside out and take his remaining life with it.

"Look!" Too quickly, Erza was back and shoving a long black box into his face.

"You see, it doesn't need to be the sewers or the plague hospital!" Erza announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "When they came for the girl, I hid them. Thought who knows, maybe the poor bugger'll be back one day and need them, cracked in the head, wasn't I? Times as they are, I could've gotten good money for them, but...just look!" He shoved the box into Anthony's hands and positively _beamed _at him. "You can be a barber again!"

Anthony opened the box. In it were his old razors, still in good condition. He had taken care of his beauties, not let a single one even think of getting dull. He pulled one out and just looked it it, almost in awe. It wasn't until he hit the floor that he realized he was sitting down. 

"My friends." Anthony whispered, almost reverently, almost in awe. "I'm back. Did you miss me?"

In the background, he could half-hear Erza babble on about something. Living arrangements, his faith in Anthony, stuff like that. His body just barely detected that Erza was hugging him from behind, saying something about missing him and wondering when he'd come home. Nothing important. Anthony spoke softy to his beauties, titling them to see how the light touched them, running his finger along the blade to feel how sharp they still were.

"At last." He murmured. "My arm is complete again." And he felt all the pieces of the puzzle put themselves together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway tho catch me being incredibly lazy with Beelzebub's person name
> 
> I have Issues calling Crowley by Anthony in this because I immediately jump to the Sweeney Todd Anthony and it's really a whole ordeal


	4. love is another word for a chance of freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newton takes a stroll around London, looking for a place to stay, and finds the most glorious wonder of all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new characters this chapter!
> 
> This will be from Green Finch and Linnet Bird to the end of Johanna

Anathema was bored and miserable. This was her regular combination of emotions, so she wasn’t overly shocked about it. She sat at her window seat and watched the world go by. Or at least, a very small portion of it. Her world extended as far she could see from the windows of her house. She always hesitated to call it “home”, although she should. Judge Gabriel had been very kind to adopt her after her parents abandoned her, and he gave her a comfortable life. There was no use in complaining, even if her world was limited by walls and vision. But there was always a part of her that hungered for  _ more _ . More world, more knowing, more adventure. Less walls. 

The best day of the week was Wednesday. That was when the bird-seller came around, advertising his wages. Whenever he passed by her house, he would hold the pole up so she could see into the cages and feed the birds. Once, Father had allowed her to purchase one, and it sat in a cage in her room. It was a little lark she’d named Agnes, and it was her only real friend. Anathema would talk to the bird, of freedom and what she would do when she finally got her hands on it. Of course, she’d take Agnes with her, what would she do without her little songbird? 

There were books all over the large house. Anathema had devoured all of them thoroughly, all except the pornographic ones. They told of adventure, of love, of being free. She loved to read and had a stash of her favorite books underneath her bed. Sometimes she would read aloud to Agnes, and imagine herself in the stories. It was thrilling, and she wanted to experience it all firsthand. Now that she was getting older, she was certain Father would let her experience the world. Anathema was nearly seventeen and more than capable of taking care of herself. If only Father would realize just how capable she was. 

She was jolted out of her haze by the call of the bird-seller coming down the sidewalk.

“Birds, six pence a bird! Beautiful songbirds, sings all hours of the night and day! Six pence a bird!”

Anathema flung her window open and stuck her torso outside, taking a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. She smiled down at the bird-seller and slid her glasses back up her nose.

“How are they today, sir?”

The man smiles right back at her, as she is a familiar face. “Hungry as always, Ms. Anathema!” He stepped closer and raised the pole up higher so she could see the birds better. The cages hung on hooks coming out of the pole. Anathema always worried that the cages would fall off, but she’d been assured that it was all perfectly safe.

“Hello there, little ones.” She spoke, letting her fingers slip through the bars of the cage closest to her. “I’ll never understand how you can sing so sweetly while you’re trapped in these little things? Doesn’t it drive you simply mad to see the world pass you by while you’re stuck behind bars? Have you decided it’s just...safer to be in the cages? Don’t worry, sweet things, I know how it feels. My cage is bigger than yours, but it’s a cage nonetheless.” She smiled sadly and pet the little bird the cage contained. It chirped happily and she felt her heart warm. 

“I only wish I could enjoy my cage the way you do, singing all day. Maybe one day we can both be free, how does that sound?”

“Oy, Miss!” The bird-seller called, a laugh in his tone. “No pettin’ unless you’re buyin’!”

Anathema withdrew her fingers and waved down at him. “Not today, sorry! Good luck elsewhere, though!”

The man left and Anathema was about to retreat back inside and re-read  _ Macbeth _ for the thirty-fourth time when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. A man, standing on the sidewalk, staring up at her. Creep. She was about to retreat inside, close the curtains, and  _ then  _ re-read  _ Macbeth _ when the man spoke. 

“My, why would a man travel to see any wonder when clearly the most beautiful is right here Kearney’s Lane! I’ve no use to sail anymore!” He shouted. He wanted her to hear.

Ok, so romantic creep. Anathema pretended to not hear him, and watch the clouds float past as she worked out what the man’s deal was. 

“Miss, at least look down at me before you go back inside.” This was said quieter, and she watched the man step closer. “I ask nothing more than a mere glance.”

The gears in Anathema’s head were turning. This man likes her. This man is possibly attracted to her. Maybe, just maybe, if she looks down at him, it could be the start of her own story. If she got married to him, she could just tell Father and he couldn’t object, really. She’s not a child anymore, she ought to have some say over her life and how she lives it. 

So, here went nothing. A deep inhale, a sharp exhale, a glance downwards and slightly to the left. 

And there he was. A man, maybe about twenty, a bit of stubble and probably could use a haircut. Not the best-looking man she’s seen, probably wouldn’t make the top twenty. But there was something in his eyes, in his smile...she could trust this man. Given time, maybe she could even love him like he does her. Anathema smiled back at him, and was about to speak when a beggar appeared out of the garbage and started speaking to him. She hastily shut her windows, but left the curtains open. She smiled as she pulled  _ Macbeth  _ out from under her bed and settled herself in her armchair. Love, escape, freedom. Pretty fantasies, but ungrounded in reality. Maybe in a few years. 

~*~

Newton almost resented the beggar for tearing his attention away from the most beautiful, wondrous person he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing, but anger was never his strong suit. 

“Alms, please, for a miserable...oh, pardon me, it’s you again sir.”

Newt smiled at the same beggar from that morning and fished in his pocket for another coin. He handed it over to them. When they smiled, he could see that what teeth they had left were clearly rotten.

“Thank you, sir, thank you.” They slipped the coin into their pocket and was about to leave, when Newt called back out.

“Wait, just a moment?” He asked. They turned, impatience clear on their face. He nervously pointed at the window he’d just been looking at.    
“Do you know whose house this is?”

They looked a moment, and then fear clouded their blank expression. “That’s...that’s Judge Gabriel’s house, that is.”

“And the young woman who lives there?”

Fear changed to something...else. Newt couldn’t quite place it, but it seemed almost longing. Almost sad. Halfway there.

“Why, that’s Anathema, his pretty little ward! Oh, but don’t you go trespassing there, I saw how you looked at her! You mess there, and it’s a good whipping for you, young lad!”

Newton smiled and thanked them, and was about to go on his way when the beggar’s expression changed again into that familiar impish grin.

“Say, sailor boy, would you care to anchor your ship in my harbor? Gates open all hours of the day!” 

They reached for him, and Newton scrambled back, throwing some more coins on the ground. “Be off, with you! Leave me alone!” He knew that it was terribly rude of him, but it did the job. The beggar cackled at him and scampered off, mumbling something to themselves.

He dusted off his coat and looked back up at the window. “Anathema” He whispered to himself. The name of the most precious person alive. He started when he noticed the bird-seller was just down the road, and chased after him. 

“Excuse...excuse me, sir,” He gasped, short for breath. The bird-seller turned to him, clearly expecting a purchase.

“Which one sings the sweetest?” Newton asked

The bird-seller adjusted his hat and put on his best businessman face. “All of them the same, sir. Six pence, and that’s a real bargain, I’ll tell you!”

Newton looked around at all the cages, and settled on the bird he’d seen Anathema petting earlier. “He sings prettily. But...why does he beat his wings so wildly against the cage?”

“We blinds ‘em, sir.” The bird-seller chuckled and took down the cage Newt had pointed out. “Yeah, we blinds ‘em, and, well, not knowing night from day, they sing all hours.” Noticing his clients frightened expression, he hastily added, “Doesn’t harm the birds a bit.”

Having paid, he returned to the Judge’s house. Anathema must have spotted him coming down the street, for she was looking out her window at him when he arrived. Newton smiled and held up the birdcage. She smiled back and hurried away from the window and shut the curtains. Newt felt dejected, and was about to turn right around and go back to his search of a place to stay when the front door opened. Anathema stood proudly in the doorway, but not placing a foot over the threshold. 

“When I saw you, I thought I was dreaming.” Newt said, holding the birdcage out to her. She held it, but made no move to take it from him, nor did he make a move to let go. “It would’ve been wonderful if I’d had the imagination to dream you up, but it’s much better knowing you really exist.”

Anathema laughed, and Newton decided it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“We’ve only just met.” She teased. “You get to know me and see if you still think it’s better knowing I’m real.”

“I can’t imagine not thinking that. I don’t think anything I could know about you would change that.”   
“How about this, then. I’m just as stuck as this bird.” 

“Well then.” Newton suddenly felt ten times braver than he normally ever could. “I suppose I’ll have to help you to freedom.”

Anathema opened her mouth to respond (she was going to say that she appreciated him recognizing her as a capable person to obtain her own freedom) when they were interrupted by two men walking down the road. One tall, dark-haired and muscular, and the other short, balding, and rather plump. 

“Anathema!” Cried the tall one, and hurried over, the short one following just behind.

Anathema ducked farther into the entryway, a look of fear and frustration filling her eyes. Newton gathered that the tall man must be Judge Gabriel, her guardian. 

The judge stalked up to Newt, anger filling his (oddly) purple eyes. “If I see your face on this street, or anywhere near here, you will rue the day you were born? Is that plain enough speak for you?”

Newt held his hands by his chest in surrender, to show he meant no harm. “I...sir, I had no ill-will, only respect and admiration, and-”

Gabriel turned away to him to face the short man, his beadle. “Sandalphon, could you get rid of him?”

“You heard His Worship.” Sandalphon cracked his knuckles, and Newt felt a sudden urge to bolt. 

“Friend, I..I have no fight with you.”

Sandalphon reached out and plucked the cage from Newt’s hands and grabbed the bird from within. He tossed the cage aside and, making sure to maintain eye contact with Newt, snapped its neck. Anathema flinched ever farther inside the house, and Newt felt his heart shatter. 

“Next time, it’ll be your neck.” Sandalphon looked deadly serious, and Newt nodded. He turned once more to Anathema, hoping to convey the message that he wouldn’t just leave her here through only what he said in his eyes, and crossed the street. Before he left to find a cheap enough inn, he gave one more glance to the house. Judge Gabriel had said something to Anathema, and she hurried inside, most likely back to her room. What had he said? Did he threaten her? 

Either way, all Newt knew was that he would give Anathema whatever tools she needed to free herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Adding on to Johanna/Anathema's character because I feel she doesn't get much of a personality in canon and I want her to have Some Personality? It's more likely than you think
> 
> Also, me giving her some autonomy? Yes

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend everyone google the 1982 proshot for this musical. The video quality isn't the best, but it's the original stage version and I honestly prefer it to the Tim Burton movie. The stage musical feels more alive, more human in a way I didn't get in the movie. The characters laughed and had fun and cared for each other, which is why Sweeney and Lovett were such good bad guys! They were joyful and sorrowful and they loved and grieved like any one of us. In the end, they were human, not emotionless monsters. It's totally fine if you enjoyed the Tim Burton film version of it, I'm not going to say anyone's tastes are wrong. I just don't see any joy from that version, or any sorrow really.  
So, if you're interested in the musical, or have only seen the movie, or have already seen the musical but want to see it again, go look up the proshot. It's on vimeo. It's not just a story about murder and death, but a profoundly human story about loss and revenge and the vicious cycle one act of cruelty can start
> 
> No waxing poetic in the next chapter's notes, I swear


End file.
